


Kind of Blue

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [4]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Childhood, F/M, Flashback, Imaginary Friend, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the past, we learn something about the events that shaped the lives of Tom and Carmen. In the present, they go home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In flashbacks, we learn a little about some events in Tom's childhood that, for better or for worse, made him the man Carmen meets in the present.

It was starting to get dark in the woods, but Tom was no closer to being found than he was an hour ago. Stumbling over fallen branches, he shivered when a wind would blow through the leaves in the trees. His arms were tucked into his jumper, to keep warm but also to cradle his best friend. His best friend Baloo.

Like Tom, Baloo was 8 years old. They both lived in the same cozy house in Oxford with a mother, a father, and two sisters. Tom was the middle child, and the only son. Baloo, being a stuffed doll version of the grey bear in Tom’s favorite movie, was the only bear of the Hiddleston household. He was Tom’s first friend, best friend, and sometimes it felt like he was his only friend.

They emerged from the woods, frightened and cold. But, Tom thought as he was tucked into his own bed that night, Baloo tucked tight into his chest, at least they emerged from the woods together.

Not too long after the woods, Tom was running around with his cousins at a big family party. He sensed somehow that his cousins tolerated him more than they liked him, casting questioning glances at him and his bear. He disposed of Baloo, stuffed him (with a furtive apology) in between couch cushions for safekeeping, before joining the rumpus. When Tom fell and hit his head hard on the radiator, the cousins began to scream and cry while his parents swooped in to take him to hospital. Tom was inconsolable. He didn’t mind the pain so much, as he was more shocked than anything, but he couldn’t stand being without his best friend. Where was Baloo? His older sister Sarah, who never teased him about his bear, snuck into the emergency department, bear in hand, and got him to Tom before the doctor asked her to wait elsewhere.

By the age of 10, Tom had made more friends. Not a lot of friends, but enough. Enough that he didn’t always bring Baloo to school with him. When he did, when there was a test he didn’t feel good about, or the bigger boys who’d shove him during PE when they thought the instructor wasn’t looking, Tom would hide Baloo in his schoolbag. It was easy enough to leave the bag slightly open, so Tom could reach in and pet his friend’s fur without being found out.

The year Tom was 13 was, as his parents would try to explain, full of changes. You’re a strong boy, they said. It won’t feel this way for long. But this wasn’t like being lost, or having to get stitches, or getting away from the bullies at school. There was no escaping the reality that his mother and father were getting a divorce. The Hiddlestons were not the only couple to get divorced that year. But they were Tom’s only parents and now, with their parting, Tom was now the only son of a broken home.

It all made sense to him. They were divorcing so he was made to go. Boarding school. And not just any boarding school but Eton. Eton made men, proper men who grew up to be great and powerful and handsome. He couldn’t be a boy at home forever. The boy with the bear. Before he left, Tom had one last talk with Baloo.

“Baloo.” Tom sat on his trunk, which was packed and ready to be dragged down to the car. He looked at a hangnail, decided not to gnaw on it, and focused on the bear in his lap.

“Baloo,” he repeated. “I will always remember you. All of our talks, and our plans, and our secrets. I want you to know that I… appreciated what you did for me. Being my first friend. Helping me with Mum and Dad. But I can’t take you with me. You wouldn’t like it anyway. No other bears for you to chat to while I’m having my lessons. And I know you’ll be happier here. And I can be happy, somehow, without you.”

Tom stood up and crossed the room, setting Baloo on his window sill. Taking one last look at Baloo, he jogged downstairs to ask his father for help with his trunk.

So Tom Hiddleston didn’t do sadness. Not really. Not since he was a boy. And anybody who said otherwise was a liar.

The plan once he got to Eton was straightforward, and went off without a hitch. Get top marks, play a sport, befriend everybody at school _(but don’t get too close)_ , flirt with their sisters and mothers. Classics at Cambridge, double first, the world’s a stage, and Tom, now a burgeoning young actor, would be its favorite player. He could, despite his father’s concerns (which he only ever read as his father’s doubts), succeed. He would win affection, attention, and applause. He would get the love back, the love he felt had been lost to him when his parents broke up the family and sent him away.

The lonely boy grew into this charming man who, if he felt sadness or melancholy, if he thought he might be lonely or forgotten, would redirect those emotions into his work, into pleasing others _(“So nice… so talented… so easy to work with”)_ , and would only permit himself to feel safe once those feelings were dealt with.

When he wasn’t working, there were distractions, so many hoops he had to jump through and games he had to play, that at the end of the day, there would be nothing left for him. Tom gave everything of himself to everybody. He was exhausted and he was empty, states of being that could conveniently be attributed to a grueling schedule of work and travel.

If he was accused of being maudlin or just plain blue, Tom would simply turn his light back on, running on fumes to charm and chat, flirt and tease, until his audience had gotten their fill of him. Once drained, he would make excuses, and retreat to home. Alone.

Until, on an unseasonably cool summer afternoon, Tom Hiddleston returned home from a long walk to find a stranger waiting for him at his garden gate.

He had first noticed her a few days ago, when he was leaving his favorite cafe. Latte in hand, he had spilled a bit on the cuff of his peacoat. Stopping to clean it up, he looked up in time to see a woman with dark hair, sitting on a stone wall in front of a Georgian house that was painted bright turquoise. She had wrapped in her arms a girl who looked to be no older than 12. The girl’s shoulders shook as she cried in the woman’s arms, making the only noise on the quiet street, as the woman did nothing but stroke her hair. She cupped the girl’s face in her hands _(so soft)_ then kissed her on the forehead before whispering something in the child’s ear. The woman held the girl’s hand as they approached the house’s door, which was painted vermilion. As soon as the girl raised her hand to knock, the woman took a few steps back, and had gone by the time a middle-aged man wearing a tired expression let the girl inside.

And then again on that afternoon. Tom was out for a walk on the heath, lost in thought when he tripped over a branch. He stumbled but did not fall. As he righted himself he stood up and saw in the distance the same dark hair, the same gentle movements, only this time the stranger had her arms wrapped an elderly man with a mop of grey hair. She said nothing, merely stroked the man’s back. His back which shook as he sobbed into her shoulder.

But that was a few hours ago, and now here she was. Standing in front of her now, he noticed that she wore hoop earrings that nearly touched her shoulders. Her dark hair was shot through with strands of white. While her dark brown eyes appeared to flash in the summer sun, they revealed little of what might have been going on in her mind or in her heart. Her grey sweater coordinated with the lavender flannel mini skirt she wore over grey tights. Rocking back and forth on clogs the color of smoke, her steps made sounds — _clip-clop, clip-clop_ — on the pavement, marking the time until one of them decided to speak.

“Erm…” Tom ran his fingers through his hair, something to do as he avoided her gaze. He found his phone in his jacket pocket and nearly reached for it, running his thumb over its rounded edges. Instead, he decided to turn it on. The Full Hiddy. Give her what she wants, and then she’ll leave him alone.

“Well hello! What’s your name? Would you like a picture, love?”

She made him wait for his reply, remaining silent for a beat longer than he expected, and that made him uncomfortable.

The woman shook her head as she considered the tall man in front of her. “No. I mean, no thank you. That’s really lovely of you. Quite kind. But I don’t need anything from you. I don’t want anything from you.”

Her voice was pure honey and yet her words stung. Tom bit his lip, then tried again.

“I’m sorry, you must think me presumptuous…”

She smiled sweetly. “Oh, I know who you are.”

“But I don’t know who you are.”

She laughed. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

When Tom continued to stare at her, she leaned forward and tugged on his jacket. Her face was upturned to reveal a tender smile.

“Tom, don’t you recognize me? It’s me. Your old friend. Baloo.”

* * *

Baloo sat cross-legged on Tom’s bed, her shoes set neatly on the floor nearby. Hands splayed on the mattress behind her, she leaned back and did her best to answer his questions.

The first being, was her name really Baloo? Was she really an incarnation of his first friend, an imaginary friend in the guise of a stuffed animal he had carried everywhere as a toddler, cuddled at night as a boy? The pretend pal Tom left behind when he left for Eton.

“Yes.” Baloo’s answer to every question was the same. “Yes,” and then a hum of satisfaction. “And I like dream friend better. I think it suits.”

Tom tried to stump her. What was his favorite pudding as a boy? Who was his first kiss? His worst subject at primary school? She knew the answers to those questions and so many more. Sadder questions about things he long thought buried and gone.

When he was done with his interrogation, he sat on the bed beside her and looked at his lap. Tom’s hands were folded neatly in front of him. Baloo leaned forward and took them in hers.

“Feel that?” Her voice was hushed, and soft. Softer than the touch of her hands, her warm skin, and it soothed him. “Close your eyes, and don’t peek.” When he obeyed, he was surprised when the caresses of her hands were replaced by something else, something strange. One side felt furry  and soft, the other was rough and a little irregular. A bear paw, just like he remembered. Tom’s eyes flew open to find the soft hands of a woman once again.

“Sorry, Tom. I can get it to work sometimes, just as long as you can’t see.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Tom looked at her shyly. “Baloo?”

“Yes, Tom?”

“If you’re Baloo, then why…?” He faltered but she was there to finish.

“Why am I a human woman instead of a grey bear from books and an animated film? It’s as simple as cartoon bears would make for a strange and near impossible sight walking around modern day London, even if we are sort of close to the Zoo. Yes, even in a neighborhood as nice as this. Speaking of which, good job with the house, my dear. You must be doing well for yourself. I’m very proud of you.”

“But can you forgive me? For leaving you?” Tom spoke up before he had a chance to think. His cheeks flushed when Baloo smiled at him.

“Tom, there is nothing to forgive. We were friends when you needed me, when you were a boy. Someone to play with when nobody else would do or could do. Someone to help you when you had thinking to do. And you were so bright, we did that a lot, didn’t we? Someone…” Baloo looked down at their hands, which were now intertwined in her lap. “Someone to console you when things got tough.”

Tom squeezed her hand. “I never thanked you properly.”

“Why would you? You were 13 the last time I saw you, and even then it had been years since you reached for me.”

“Right. I was 13 when Mum and Dad…”

“Yes.” Baloo nodded. “And we got through that. Together.”

Tom stopped to wipe his eyes. “You were my first friend.”

“And I always will be. But it was time for you to grow up. Make new ones, stop being a boy…”

“And become a man.” Tom finished. He sighed. “Where did you go?”

Baloo looked up at the ceiling. “Not Eton.” She shrugged. “No such thing as boarding school for bears, my boy. I was… somewhere else. Nowhere as lovely as this house. But I do sometimes miss our room back at home in Oxford.” She turned her gaze to Tom’s face, just in time to see it crumple as he began to cry.

“Oh Tom!” Baloo cried as he laid his head in her lap. She ran her fingers from his forehead up to his scalp, arranging the short blond locks into small curls. Spotting a loose eyelash, the picked it up with the tip of her finger, made a wish, then blew it away.

“I missed you.” Tom squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“I know you did.”

“Did you miss me?”

Baloo hiccuped as a fat tear slid down her cheek and fell on Tom’s nose. “Maybe just a little.”

“Did you ever stop missing me?”

“Yes.”

Tom opened his eyes. They were wide and questioning. “When was that?”

“Just now. When you came home.”

“Oh Baloo.” Tom turned to brush his lips against her fingers as she touched his face. He bit the tip of his thumb, nipping it when a question came to mind.

“Baloo, who was that girl I saw you with? The child, that girl in front of a blue house. And then the man in the park. Are they alright?”

“Well, if you didn’t already guess, that girl and her papa, and the man in the park, are your neighbours, geography-wise. Emotionally-wise, they are close to you, too.”

“How do you mean?”

“She was feeling lonely. She needed a friend. Somebody who would listen, never judge. And the gentleman was missing somebody he loved, somebody who is lost to him forever. But I was never her doll or his when they were babes.” Baloo shook her head. “Just yours. I only ever belonged to you.”

“Is it th-that obvious?” Tom stuttered, then gulped. “The loneliness, I mean.”

“Yes, darling. It is. At least to me.” Baloo said quietly. “Maybe others around you, people who don’t know you, people who think they know you, don’t see it. But I do.”

Tom sighed, frustrated. “But I’m not… I see people all the time. Girlfriends. I’ve been in love.”

Baloo shook her head. “But you can still be lonely. Sometimes it’s worse when there are people around. Because then you’re isolated. Being lonely, Tom? It’s alright to admit it, even if it’s just to yourself.” She bit her lip. “So how do you feel now?”

“Tired, Baloo.” Tom could almost feel the dark circles coming in under his eyes. “I’m very tired.”

“It’s because you’ve come so far, Tom. You’ve friends and family, talent and work. You’ve made it.”

“But there’s more…”

Baloo nodded. “I know. You could be there soon, there at the top. But…”

“I’d be alone.”

Baloo furrowed her brows. “You sound so sure of that, Tom.”

“There’s nobody to share it with. I thought I’d be married by now, with a child. A family. My family.” He looked at Baloo, confused when she shook her head and laughed softly.

“You said it yourself. You don’t try to make plans, as God always laughs at them.”

“But…”

“But nothing. You’re in a good place, but it’s not the only one. You’ll live long enough to be in all of the good places you should be. I can promise you that.”

“Do you know where these other good places are?”

“Tom, I’m an imaginary bear. I’m not a psychic.”

When Tom chuckled, he also yawned, so Baloo sang to him his favorite song, in the form of a lullaby, so he soon fell fast asleep:

 _And don't spend your time lookin' around  
_ _For something you want that can't be found  
_ _When you find out you can live without it  
_ _And go along not thinkin' about it_

_I'll tell you something true  
_ _The bare necessities of life will come to you  
_ _They'll come to you!_

* * *

Tom woke up a few hours later, still lying at the foot of the bed, though his head was no longer in Baloo’s lap. The room was dark but he could make out her figure as she lay in the middle of the mattress, curled up on her side, her clasped hands under her cheek. She made a curious noise, half purr, half growl, before stirring awake. Her hair shone a little in the moonlight.

Tom moved closer so he lay on his side, facing her. She stirred awake, and he felt better when their eyes met.

“Hullo,” whispered Baloo.

“Hi,” he replied.

“Nice sleep, Tom?”

Tom nodded. “How long?”

“It’s quite dark. Might be late. Do you have the time?”

Tom nodded.

“Would you like to tell me what it is?”

“Oh! Of course.” Tom showed her his wrist, which was encircled by a rubbery-looking sport watch. “Ah. 10:00. Late for a boy…”

“But not for a man. And his bear.” Baloo yawned.

Tom chuckled. “But you’re not a bear.”

“Well, just on the inside. Where it counts.”

Baloo touched the side of his face, then stuck her finger in his ear to tickle him. When he laughed, she laughed too. When he smiled, so did she.

“Show me where the kitchen is? I’ll make us something, a little treat we can have up here, and then we’ll try to sleep properly.”

While Baloo busied herself cooking, humming over the gentle din of rattling dishes and cups, forks and a teapot, Tom got ready for bed. He turned down the covers a little, then slipped into an old blue t-shirt and stripey pyjama bottoms. The reading lamps were dimmed. He set aside the matching top for Baloo, then wondered if he was being presumptuous again.

He had just washed his hands and face when Baloo returned. She bore a wicker tray that she placed in the middle of the bed. Baloo nodded at the shirt laid for her.

“Is that for me?”

“Only if you want it, if you need it. I mean, you don’t have to stay. But I don’t want you to go.”

Baloo nodded. “I’ll stay. I want to. If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will.” Tom smiled bashfully at her. He looked at the tray, which she had covered with a tea towel.

“We should eat.”

“Alright.” He carefully got on top of the bed and, when Baloo made herself comfortable on the other side, pulled the tray closer. Under the tea towel were two dishes of food, two mugs of steaming liquid, two forks, and a small teapot. Tom leaned forward to sniff at the tray.

“A favorite writer of mine wrote a charming essay about what she called ‘nursery food’. The kind of things that, after eating, nobody would ever say, well, that was interesting, but what was it? The kind of food that feeds your body and your soul.”

“This is the smallest shepherd’s pie I’ve ever seen.” Tom reached for the plate closest to him, and accepted a fork from Baloo. “And how did you make a shepherd’s pie in 15 minutes?”

“Magic,” said Baloo primly. “Now listen. Next to the pie are a few steamed carrots. Just three, but that’s all you need before bedtime. And in the last well…”

“Well?” Tom peered at his dish. “Are these…?”

“Yes, they’re child dishes. Split into sections, each with a picture at the bottom. Just like we had when you were a boy.”

“Let me guess… magic?” When Baloo nodded, he forked a bite of shepherd’s pie into his mouth. He moaned in appreciation, as it was delicious.

“I was going to make banana custard with a vanilla biscuit. But then I saw the bakery box in your refrigerator, so I took the liberty of serving this banoffee pie for our pudding.”

Tom nodded. “Wise choice.”

The food was just enough to quiet their growling stomachs but not so much that they would feel too sluggish to sleep comfortably. The mugs of chamomile were replenished once from the pot, and then it was time for sleep.

While Tom took the tray downstairs, Baloo got ready for bed. When he returned to his bedroom, she was sitting on top of the covers. Her clothes were folded in the window seat, and she wore his pyjama shirt, which nearly reached her knees. Her earrings were off and her hair was piled on top of her head for only a moment before it fell back down to her shoulders.

She patted the mattress beside her and Tom got in.

“Why did you come back now?”

Baloo laughed. “Oh I see. First you make me cook you supper and now the real interrogation begins!”

Tom smiled, which made his eyes crinkle. “I’m serious. Just because I’m grown doesn’t mean I couldn’t have used your help. Your advice. Your cooking!”

Baloo shook her head, then took his right hand and laid it atop her left palm. She raised her arm up, then down. It felt heavy in her hand.

“I have some information that might be of use to you.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m here to tell you that… you’re close.”

“Close to what?”

“More like close to whom.”

“Baloo, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh damn,” she muttered. “I guess I will have to speak more plainly after all.” Clearing her throat, she continued.

“Tom. You are very close to finding your person.”

“My person?” Tom’s breath hitched. “You don’t mean… you can’t mean…”

“Oh yes, dear.” Baloo nodded. “Her.”

“But… where? How? Who is she?”

Baloo shook her head slowly. “Sorry, love. That’s all I can give you.”

“That's not fair.” Tom pouted, which only made Baloo laugh.

“That’s the answer of a boy, not a man.”

“Says my imaginary friend from childhood.”

“Maybe if you ask me some questions, some good questions, I can answer them.”

“When?”

“Soon. In the next six months.”

“Really? How will I know it’s her? Will I know it as soon as I see her?”

“You won’t, and you won’t. It might take a little while to sort itself out.”

“Will she know? Am I her person too?”

“Of course she’s your person. But no, she won’t know it’s you.”

“Is she lonely too?” Tom’s voice sounded small as he worried for this woman he hadn’t even met yet. Baloo touched his face, running her fingers along his jaw tenderly.

“She is, but, much like you, she does her best not to show it. She does a lot of things to fill her time, fill her heart. She has close friends, their children who adore her. Oh, and volunteer work for her alma mater.” When Tom raised his eyebrows, Baloo blushed. “That might have been a clue..”

“I thought you couldn’t do that.”

“Well, that was before I realized how tired I was, old friend.”

“What does she look like?”

Baloo looked sly. “Tom, how about you rephrase the question?”

Tom looked at her face closely, saw freckles he hadn’t noticed before, and the way her hair curled just so around her shoulders. Were Baloo’s lips always so pink?

“Does she… does she look like you?”

When Baloo nodded, Tom blushed and dropped her hands. “Baloo… I…”

She smiled kindly. “It’s okay if you don’t like me that way. I’m just your friend.”

Tom started to speak, then faltered. He breathed. “It’s not that. It’s just, it’s you Baloo. I love you, but not like that.”

Baloo smiled. She put her arms around Tom, and began to rub his back. “I love you, too. You are my friend. But you’re a man, and you need companionship in the form of a nice lady. Somebody to love. Yes, I look like her. Almost exactly like her though I’m pretty sure she’s an inch or two taller than me, and doesn’t eat as much salmon as I would like. But the thing is, her personality is a bit different from mine. While she is kind, and thoughtful, and sweet, it won’t be apparent. Not at first. And she's sharp, funny, so funny. She loves to play games, loves to tease. I think the two of you would play well. By which I mean, you’d challenge each other. You would grow.”

“She sounds wonderful,” sniffed Tom, then smiled as he felt come over with a pleasant warmth that settled in his chest somewhere near his heart.

Baloo kissed him on the cheek. “Well, of course. And so are you. It’s what you deserve.” She took a deep breath. “I took this form in the hopes that your subconscious might recognize her when you do meet. She’ll be good for you, good to you. She will take care of you, will look after you, just like I have. But she’s a proper human. You will fall in love with the way she looks, the way she thinks, the way she feels. And she’ll love you. She will love you, probably even before she realizes she likes you.”

“How do you mean?” Tom grinned.

“Your first meeting?” Baloo bit her lip. “Let’s just say… it’s not as perfect as you would like. And that’s it for clues!” She laughed.

“So if she’s my person, then what will you be?”

“Oh Tom. I’m your bear. Always will be.” Baloo nuzzled his cheek, then pulled him into a hug.

“Baloo?”

“Yes Tom?”

“Am I going to remember this evening, this talk, in the morning?”

Baloo shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, but you won’t.”

“Will you be here when I awake?”

A tear appeared in Baloo’s eye. “No. But I’ll see you again. I promise.” She yawned. “Gosh, it’s awfully late.”

Tom looked at his old friend in the dim light. “Is that another way of saying we should go to sleep?”

Baloo nodded. “After all, if you’re going to go find your person, you’re going to need your rest.”

* * *

 

Five Months Later

“So you’re not coming after all, is what you’re saying?”

Tom paced outside his favorite cafe in the neighborhood. Phone pressed to his ear, he wasn’t listening to what the shrill girl was saying on the other end. Just biding his time until it was his turn to speak.

“Okay, that’s fine. You’ve got that catalogue shoot. It’s important. Yeah, love, don’t worry. I’ll, erm, just get a coffee to go and work at home. I have scripts to read. Sure. Sure sure. Yeah, love you too. Bye.”

By the time he said “love you too” she’d already hung up. The sad thing was, he didn’t care.

Inside the cafe a girl guitarist was setting up a microphone and plugging her instrument into a portable monitor. Her song, wistful and lonesome, was pleasant enough, and didn’t prevent Tom from hearing his name called when his drink came up. He thought about staying to indulge in a brownie but he had to keep fit, and those scripts really were waiting for him at home.

While it was January, the day was mild, so he was able to keep open the peacoat that had somehow become a staple of his year-round wardrobe. He could also take the long way home. The sky was overcast and the trees were bare, but the neighborhood rang with the peals of bicycle bells and the thuds of rubbish being taken out to the curb. The house painted robin’s egg blue had in front of it a smiling girl and her cheerful father, taking in bags of groceries. In the park, a gentleman with grey hair looked at a few old pictures he’d packed with his lunch.

Tom was at his garden gate when his mobile rang. It was Luke. He answered the call as he let himself into his house.

“Tom, just got off the phone with your agent and manager. You’ll be getting the offer soon, for the architect biopic, the one set in Chicago.”

Tom pumped his fist, then sat down on his couch so he could kick off his boots. “Excellent. That’s the one that doesn’t shoot until year after next, right?”

“Correct. But I’m checking the calendar now, and it looks like the only time you have to meet with him, start getting to know him before pre-production properly starts, is… oh! This weekend, as it turns out.”

Tom sighed, looking at the suitcase by his door which was always packed and ready. “That’s fine.” He rubbed his eyes. He could read those scripts on the plane.

“I know you’re always packed, but better bring some proper winter clothes. It’s well below freezing there.”

“Got it.” Tom nodded and made a note to find his winter coat. “So am I coming in just for the architect? That will be, what, a few meetings?”

“A few meetings with him and his biographer. That will be at his office. A small dinner with him and his wife at their home. And of course tours of his local projects, with the first happening almost as soon as you land on Saturday.”

Tom nodded. “The library at the University. Right. I’ve seen the pictures of the exterior.”

“Precisely, “ replied Luke. “The University couldn’t arrange a private tour for you with such short notice. It’s exam time for the undergraduates, and when it’s busy enough they don’t usually conduct tours. So you’ll be joining a group of major donors whose tour was arranged long ago, and by somebody higher up than the head librarian.”

“Major donors? Sounds like old donors, eh?” Tom leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes.

“Are you aging up then, Tom? Stop chasing after girls in their twenties?” Luke laughed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tom smirked. “Ah. Right.”

“It’s appropriate, you know. This thing you have with her. Met on set. Great for press, especially when the movie’s released later this year.”

“But not so great for me, I’m afraid.” Tom shuffled into the kitchen and began to fix his tea.

“Is that the sound of someone about to break up with his girlfriend?”

Tom shook his head. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s… a girl I know.”

“Sure. Of course.”

“And… we’re having a nice time.” Tom frowned at his choice of words, but they would have to do.

“You make it sound like torture.”

Tom chuckled. “It isn’t… it's fine.” He rooted around in his refrigerator, stopping when he found something. Something that had not been there before. When he placed the something on the counter, he murmured into his phone. “Luke, gotta go. I’ll be on that plane to Chicago this weekend.”

Before Luke could reply, Tom hung up and placed his phone on the kitchen counter. In front of him was a white bakery box, wrapped with twine. A note was stuck to the top of the box. It read: “Time for something sweet. Have fun in Chicago. Love, Baloo.”

The box had not been there a day ago. It had not even been there an hour ago, when he left the house. Before he opened the box, Tom called out, and wondered if he was truly alone at home. After taking a deep breath, and finally removing his jacket, he opened the box and looked inside.

Inside lay a slice of banoffee pie. Next to the pie was a snowglobe. Picking it up, Tom found that it was ordinary. Just water and glitter under a glass dome attached to a black plastic base. He had to wait for the flakes of glitter to settle before he could discern the small figure inside. The figure was actually two. One of a grey bear, arms set in a waving position as though he were dancing. And next to the grey bear stood a lavender mouse with a bright red nose.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback shows us what triggered Carmen's transformation from a timid girl to a bolder woman. In the present, she and Tom head home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening:  
> Miguel, “coffee”  
> Father John Misty, “When You’re Smiling and Astride Me”  
> The Beatles, “If I Needed Someone”  
> John Coltrane, “A Love Supreme” (yes, the entire record)  
> Matthew Sweet, “I’ve Been Waiting”

> _Dear Miss DiGregorio,_
> 
> _We are pleased to inform you that you have been awarded the Thorndike Scholarship for Overseas Study for autumn quarter of the 2000-2001 academic year._
> 
> _The scholarship committee enjoyed the presentation of your work, “Some Lacan It Hot: Desire and Gender Performance in Post-War British Cinema”, and look forward to following its progress as you conduct further research at Cambridge University._
> 
> _Please contact your department advisor Louis Fortis for details regarding the award, and kindly accept our congratulations._
> 
> _Lauren Kiehl, Ph.D._   
>  _Chair, Department of Cinema Studies_   
>  _Chair, scholarship committee, Thorndike Scholarship for Overseas Study_

Enid couldn’t believe it. The letter, which she found in her folder in the student mailroom, tucked in with flyers for frat parties (“THE BROTHERS OF AEPI INVITE YOU TO THE LASCIVIOUS COSTUME BALL”) and open calls for the Womyn’s Union Coffee Hour, was not a rejection but an acceptance. She had won. The scholarship was hers. She would spend the autumn quarter of her last year in college in England, a country she had dreamed of visiting ever since somebody gave her a copy of Morrissey’s Viva Hate when she was a teenager.

She ran to Louis’s office and made him read the letter to her. He humored her with a chuckle, giving her a seat so she wouldn’t crumple in a mixture of delirium and delight on his office floor. _(“The Dean doesn’t look too kindly upon students fainting in their advisors’ offices. Here, have a Diet Pepsi. It’s fresh.”)_ then sent her off so he could start the paperwork for her enrollment in the fall.

It was spring, Enid’s favorite time of year, and she was on the main quad, in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago, her favorite place in the world. The first time she’d set foot there, as a tentative 18 year old first year (there are no freshmen at the University), she felt an instant connection to the place. She knew she had come home.

The walk from Mr. Fortis’s office to her dormitory on 58th and Kimbark was a quick one, but she took her time. She liked to dawdle, Enid did, so she stopped in the Oriental Institute to examine the earrings in the gift shop. She ducked down into the Seminary Co-op bookstore to peek at the travel guides for London, nearly banging her head on the pipes that hung so low their joints were padded with cut-up tennis balls to protect people from doing just that. When she finally made it back to her room, she found her boyfriend Jordy sitting in the hallway, back up against her door. Scowling and picking at his nails, he snorted when Enid tried to embrace him.

“Finally!” Jordy accepted the kiss she pressed to his cheek. “Where were you? I thought your class got out 30 minutes ago.”

“Oh it did! But Professor Kiehl…”

“That fucking dyke!”

“Hey!” Enid punched his arm and frowned. “Stop saying that!”

“Well she is,” sneered Jordy as he followed Enid into her room.

“Who gives a shit? She’s cool, and smart, and she’s going to be my thesis advisor next year.” Enid kicked off her shoes then sat on her bed. When Jordy pushed her window open and began to roll a cigarette, she popped back up to fetch the ashtray she kept just for him.

“Whatever…” Jordy tugged on his cigarette and stared at the window.

“But speaking of next year, Jordy! I got it! The Thorndike! I’m going to England in the fall!” Enid reached into her bag and held out the letter to him. Jordy plucked it out of her fingers and read it, his lips moving as he did.

“Fuck, Enid. I thought we were moving in together next year!”

“We are! Winter quarter, when I come back.”

“But I already put the deposit down on the place on 53rd and Greenwood.”

“But that’s so far from campus. And what happened to us taking over Annie and Karlin’s apartment on 54th and Woodlawn anyway?”

“I don’t want Annie and Karlin coming over. You three make too much noise when you hang out!” Jordy sunk lower into his chair, peering up at Enid’s face to make sure she was paying attention to him.

“Oh… I’m so sorry. I forgot you need your quiet to do your drawings.” Enid nodded at the sketchbook poking out of Jordy’s bag.

“And besides, what am I going to do without you in the fall? Who’s going to help me with my papers and my financial aid paperwork and return my library books?”

“Of course, of course. You’re right. What was I thinking?” Enid shook her head. _Bad girlfriend,_ she thought. She and Jordy had been together for two and half years. She wasn’t about to screw things up now.

“But… but you can come visit! Imagine us in London, shopping for records! Buying all the books! Drinking all the tea!”

Jordy brightened. “Will your scholarship cover my plane ticket?”

“Ah, no. I don’t think so.” Enid shook her head as she retrieved the letter and looked at it again.

“Never mind then.” Jordy put out his cigarette, then got up to push Enid back onto her squeaky mattress. “If you leave me alone, what am I going to do with myself?”

Jordy was pathetic, but Enid mistook this for affection. She ran her fingers through his hair, ignoring the fact that it was greasy, and permitted him to slip his tongue into her mouth. Her moan of pleasure turned into a squeak when he jabbed a finger roughly into her sex.

“Hey!” Enid's eyes filled with tears, tears which Jordy licked off her face.

“Sorry, babe. I was just so turned on…” Jordy continued his ministrations, grunting and heaving as he began to tug at Enid’s skirt. She turned her head to look at Boh, the plush lavender mouse that sat on her desk.

I’d probably hate England anyway. All that rain, she thought as she closed her eyes and let him fuck her.

Louis was disappointed, and Professor Kiehl was almost scandalized when Enid told them she was declining the scholarship. While they pleaded with her to reconsider, she stood firm. I can do the work here, she said. It’ll be cheaper for me to stay, as the scholarship wouldn’t cover all my living costs. She couldn’t meet their gazes as she signed a form stating she was turning down the award.

When the student paper came out, announcing the name of the student who would take the scholarship in her place, Enid hid in the film library all day. She took out reel upon reel from the archive, making the projectionist screen all of the love stories Enid had thought about including in her work. Johnny and Omar renewing their illicit romance in _My Beautiful Laundrette_. Lucy Honeychurch stumbling through a barley field to be caught in George Emerson’s arms in Merchant Ivory’s _A Room with A View_. She could hear the projectionist cry out in protest when she insisted upon _Four Weddings and A Funeral_ , but she paid him no mind.

By the time Enid emerged from Cobb Hall, it was dusk. Around her she could hear but not see couples whispering to each other, sharing cigarettes and slow kisses before it was time to go to the library to study, or off to somebody’s apartment to sleep together. Enid decided to stop by Botany Pond to see if the ducks were still up and tending to their ducklings. The sight of this family always made her feel better. As she was about to cross the footbridge that spanned the pond, she heard a sigh, then a giggle behind her. She stopped, then slowly turned around to find Jordy sitting with her friend Karlin.

Karlin’s eyes were shut, her arms gripping the arm and the back of the bench they occupied as Jordy loomed over her. He licked at one of Karlin’s breasts, which hung out of her unbuttoned blouse. Jordy’s hands were slowly pushing up her skirt. Enid turned around and left before he moved his head down Karlin’s body towards her lap.

Enid ran the three blocks back to her dorm, tears streaming down her face, not stopping until she was safe in her room. She curled up on her bed with Boh, crying herself to sleep, her nose pressed into his soft coat. She woke up a few hours later to the sound of gentle but insistent knocking on her door. Enid ignored it, tried to shut out the noise, until a gentle voice whispered.

“Hey. It’s me. Annie. Let me in?”

Enid unlocked the door but didn’t open it, throwing herself face down on the bed while her friend came in. She didn’t open her eyes when Annie began to speak.

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to blurt it out.” Annie took a deep breath. “I just saw Karlin. And, um, Jordy. They were making out…” She shook her head. ‘No, they were on the verge of fucking. On a bench. By Botany Pond.”

“I know. I saw them.” Enid’s voice was muffled but Annie understood her.

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Annie. She got into bed with Enid and slid an arm around her. “What a pair of shitheads they are.”

“How could she? I thought he hated her. And Karlin? God, what a fucking liar.”

“I know,” Annie said.

“And I’m such an idiot! I gave up that scholarship for him. No England because he couldn’t bear to be without me, his fucking girlfriend slash mother WHO DID EVERYTHING FOR HIM.” Enid sat up, clutching Boh in her hand. She was breathing fast.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to kill them.”

“Okay, something else.” Annie smiled when Enid laughed bitterly.

“I need to get the fuck out of here.” Enid looked at Annie plaintively. “Can we go downtown?”

“I knew it! You always want to get out of Hyde Park when you’re upset.”

Enid nodded. “I have to. I love campus too much. I don’t want to make it sadder by wallowing here.”

“Fine,” Annie said. “But you’re paying for the cab home.”

Enid and Annie ended up on the north side of town at The Music Box Theatre, smuggling a bottle of wine into a screening of Carlos Saura’s _Carmen_. Enid was enraptured by the movie as soon as it began, caught up in the sordid tale of a director obsessed with the dancer he cast to star in his flamenco ballet adaptation of Bizet’s opera. When Carmen’s eyes flashed, Enid narrowed her eyes in response. When Carmen showed a knife during the tobacco factory scene, Enid hissed. Annie noticed how dark Enid’s eyes were when they left the theater and hailed a taxi.

“Feel better?” Annie touched Enid’s hand.

“No.”

“You thinking about them?”

“Who?” Enid said coolly.

“You know… Jordy and Karlin.”

Enid shook her head. “No. I don’t think about them. I don’t think about them at all.”

Enid didn’t reply to Jordy’s calls or e-mails, and ripped up the messages he left in her folder on campus. Karlin was shut out by Annie, whose only communication with her roommate was to tell her she was late with the rent. Jordy tried to catch Enid at her dorm, on campus, going into or coming out of classes, but he was not able to. She had a veritable army of friends, ranging from the shy boy who did tech support in the dorm computer lab to several members of the football team, who shielded her, protected her from her ex-boyfriend. She was grateful for this favor, which her friends were happy to give.

Until the day when Enid came home to find Jordy pacing in front of her door. She stood at the end of the hall, keys poking out from her fingers. She strode towards her door and shoved him off when he tried to grab her.

“Enid! Come on! That was nothing! Karlin’s a liar! We never did anything.”

“Get the fuck off me!” Enid cried, shoving Jordy away as he tried to plead with her. He grabbed her arm, twisting it slightly before falling back, just in time for two of Enid’s burlier neighbors to catch him under the arms and drag him out.

“Enid! You fucking bitch! Let’s get back together!”

At the sound of that word, the nerve of him calling her a fucking bitch while he screamed for her to take him back, Enid stopped.

Jordy was right. Enid was a bitch.

A stupid bitch who didn’t know her useless boyfriend had been fucking her traitor friend. Enid was the clueless idiot who gave him money, let him copy her homework, fuck her even when she insisted she was too tired or just didn’t feel like it. Enid gave in, Enid bent over, Enid lay down so he could walk all over her. Enid took what she could get from him because she was too timid to look for something or someone better, worn down after years. Enid was weak and small. She could never be her, be that pathetic girl. Not anymore.

So it was Carmen who opened the door, then lingered in the doorway as she watched Jordy being dragged away. It was Carmen who took the pity Enid once held for herself and transferred to the greasy haired fuckwad who screamed at her.

Carmen shook her head. “Enid doesn’t live here anymore,” she said to herself. She walked into her room and shut the door.

“She’s gone.”

* * *

#### The Day They Met

Carmen’s favorite room at the Quadrangle Club was the Library. While the Solarium boasted a view of the tennis courts and the Founders Room was cozy, the Library was just… beautiful. It felt like home, but a home finer than any that she had lived in herself.

The wood paneled walls took on the color of dark honey when the large fireplace was lit. An Oriental rug that covered nearly the entire floor muffled the sound of chairs being pulled out for guests. Waiters in white smock-like coats and cotton gloves glided around the room, filling glasses with water and folding napkins just so when a diner left their seat to visit the restroom.

Carmen sat, pretty as a picture, at one of three tables set up for lunch on a cold Saturday in January. At her table were five donors who sat poking at their salads or quietly asking for an ice cube to cool their coffee. These people were elderly and filthy rich. As all good donors should be.

She was there on behalf of the local chapter of the alumni club, to be the club’s representative at such an important meal. If Carmen wasn’t flirting good-naturedly with the gentleman on her left, she was passing salt to the grande dame on her right. She was funny and sweet, ready with an anecdote or a suggestion on where to eat dinner downtown. Young but not too young, lively, an excellent conversationalist (as all good Humanities majors are) with beautiful manners.

Carmen was all of these things but, most important of all, she was available. Who else but a single woman of a certain age would be free on a Saturday to entertain a pleasant if dull audience while working slowly through a composed salad of greens, goat cheese, pumpkin seeds, and strawberries served off a plate embossed with the University crest? A lady without children to ferry to appointments, or a husband to cajole into doing his weekend chores, could be relied upon to read prepared remarks printed on index cards before sitting down to a beautiful duck breast that was more refined a choice than what she really wanted, the burger made with prime beef from Pat LaFrieda that she would have devoured with her bare hands.

The meal finished, Carmen waited politely for her guests to get their coats on for the short walk to the new library for the tour. She fell into step with a spry widow, Mrs. Sophonisba Holborn Harper, whose father had designed and patented something seemingly insignificant yet ubiquitous like the clasps on manila envelopes, and whose husband was descended from one of the University founders.

“Carmen?”

“Yes Mrs. Harper?” Carmen smiled at the little misty clouds that came out of their mouths as they spoke in the cold.

“I didn’t see a wedding ring on your ring finger, did I?”

Carmen looked down at her gloved hand. “That’s because I’m not married, Mrs. Harper.”

“Have you ever been married? Engaged?” Mrs. Harper squeezed her hand around Carmen’s arm.

“Ah, no to marriage, and no to betrothal.”

“Lots of beaux, is that it?” Mrs. Harper chuckled when Carmen blushed. “I saw you flirting at lunch. You can’t tell me that was just to butter up these gentlemen so they’d give more money!”

“I’m… I mean, I love talking to people, fellow alumni.” Carmen gathered herself and smiled at her companion. “Especially cool alumni such as yourself.”

The older woman rolled her eyes, then smiled. “You can quit laying it on, dear. I’m already giving you a quarter mil this year.”

“M-Mrs. Harper!” Carmen stuttered. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Just promise me something,” Mrs. Harper said conspiratorially as they pushed their way through the double doors at the library. A student came forward to take their coats, then returned from the cloakroom with claim tickets.

“Promise me… if you meet a nice man, and you and that nice man decide to have a little fun, and then the little fun turns into a lot of fun, by which I mean he knocks you up and you have adorable children with your pretty hair and your sweet smile, and should one of those children be a girl… do not, I mean, DO NOT, name that child Sophonisba.”

Carmen laughed, then squeezed Mrs. Harper’s hand before they began the walk down the corridor to the new library. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Mrs. Harper took a closer look at Carmen’s outfit. “You look darling, perfectly darling.” She squeezed Carmen’s wrist. “I love it. The kilt in the school colors, maroon and dove grey, with the boots to match. Adorable.”

Carmen blushed. “I try to show a little school spirit. It’s just a thing I like to do, but I think it’s nice.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

“What is it that I’m doing, Mrs. Harper?” Carmen tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled.

“I’m not sure, but whatever it is, that tall drink of water over there can’t take his eyes off you.”

“What?” Carmen sputtered. Not breaking her stride, Carmen turned her head and felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach. It was him.

What was he doing in her library? What was one of the founding members of her secret fantasy celebrity boyfriend club doing standing there with Mr. Bower? She had learned of the extra tour member at lunch and didn’t think too much of it, not even when the alumni association vice president wouldn’t tell her who it was. Carmen would have been fine with a minor celebrity, a Chicago celebrity like an anchor from WGN Morning News or the restaurant owner Rick Childress.

It didn't help that time seemed to slow as she drew near to him. And that as she approached details of him began to emerge and make him real. He had stubble on his jaw and chin. A scarf hung around his neck, and suede gloves were jammed into one of his pockets. His brow was high, and his complexion was clear. Hair a sort of honey color, and eyes that were bright in the grey light that came in from the outside into their bubble of glass and books and people typing away on laptops.

Carmen's throat was dry, which she tried to convince herself was due to the cold winter air. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the handsome man who stood there as if he had always been waiting for her to find him.

How could this be Tom Hiddleston? The embodiment of everything Carmen wanted, but was convinced she could never have, standing there with a curious expression on his face. And why did he look at her so strangely? Something must be wrong, or maybe he thought she was somebody else. That must be it, Carmen told herself, noticing at last that he was staring at her chest, a half beat longer than he should have, perhaps. She touched his arm and, surprisingly, did not burst into flames.

“Dude.” Carmen looked up and thought, _Oh shit. His eyes really_ are _that blue._

“Oh! Sorry, erm…” Tom wobbled just a little bit as he stood up straight, and Carmen thought he looked as if he might faint. He’s probably just overcome by the heat, still in his coat. That would explain the flushed cheeks. Right?

“Carmen. It’s Carmen.” She frowned at him, already counting herself out as nothing more than another girl who adored him, just another fan for him to humor with a picture or an autograph or an awkward hug, and she hated herself for it. She cared, and it made her resentful. She turned to face Mr. Bower, as she wasn’t sure she could bear to look up at Tom’s face, with those cheekbones and pink lips. But even as she did, the mental image of Tom slipping one large hand up her sweater while the other fumbled under her skirt refused to leave her mind. She dug her nails into her palms.

 _Focus,_ she thought. _Focus._

* * *

**The Present**

Tom found himself staring at Carmen’s face as the elevator at the Waldorf Astoria Chicago bore them up to the 25th floor. Cheeks still flushed from the cold, she couldn’t stop smiling and talking about the horse that had pulled their sleigh. She’d pulled off her hat so her hair stuck out in places. She rocked back and forth on her heels, tapping the marble floor. When she noticed him staring, she stopped.

“I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Carmen smiled, then shook her head. “I should just shut up.”

Tom drew closer to her. “Yeah. I should shut you up.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you sup—” She was cut off  when Tom cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, gently at first and then more firmly when she wrapped her arms around him at the waist. He massaged her shoulders for a moment before slipping his arms around her. He broke the kiss only so he could press his lips to the top of her head.

The chime of the elevator announced their arrival on the 25th floor and so they walked, hand in hand, down the long corridor to their suite. The chandeliers cast a soft glow on Carmen’s face when Tom nudged her against the door and began to kiss her neck.

“We’re almost… inside. We should go.” She closed her eyes when he kissed her before delicately licking the back of her ear. “Oh shit… I don’t think I can wait if you keep doing that.”

“What am I doing?” Tom whispered in her ear. “I’m just kissing you good night.”

“It’s four in the afternoon.”

“But it’s so dark outside…”

“Yes,” moaned Carmen. She fell back a little when Tom, who found his keycard, touched it to the keypad to open the door. She grabbed his coat when he began to walk her back to the bedroom.

“And if it’s dark,” Tom sighed as he removed his coat and then hers. “Then that must mean it’s time for bed.”

Carmen nodded then sat back on the bed. She removed her boots and tights. Shrugging off her sweater, she yanked her bra out from under her thin t-shirt. Removing her skirt, she slyly flashed her bare ass to Tom, himself already undressed, before sliding into bed. Carmen crawled into his waiting open arms.

They lay there, both of them wondering who would be the first to continue the flirtation that had begun in the elevator. Tom was about to brush Carmen's hair off her shoulder when she turned around and looked at him.

“Tom?”

“Yes?” Tom whispered as he nuzzled her cheek.

“Is it… is it okay if we lie here? If you just hold me?”

“Of course. I’d be happy to.” Tom kissed her forehead, then shifted to make himself more comfortable. Carmen closed her eyes when she felt his erection against the swell of her bottom.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I could take care of that for you.”

“Do you want to?” Tom pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes.

“Not right now, no.”

“Then you shouldn’t.” Tom shook his head, then smiled. "I don’t expect anything, certainly not that. Not if you don’t want to. You know that, right?”

Carmen nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Tom settled in behind Carmen, spooning her as they gazed out the window. He pressed his cheek into her soft hair.

“Why this hotel?” She turned to look at him. “Why didn’t you go back to The Peninsula?”

“I was unimpressed by the quality of their room service,” Tom drawled. He scrunched up his nose when Carmen pretended to swat at him.

“Seriously, Tom. You didn’t know I’d be here?”

“How could I? It’s where the production company booked me.” He looked around the room. “It’s a perfectly fine room.”

“Fine?! Dude, there are chocolates on the pillows! Cashmere throws big enough to wear as a dress! A television in the bathroom mirror, and a fireplace for indoor picnics. Our suite has a doorbell like it’s a real home.”

“Well, _dude_ …” He laughed when Carmen rolled her eyes at him. “This is nice. A lovely room. But not so lovely as the girl I found in it.”

“Oh lord… there is no need to sweet talk me, as you’ve already had me.”

“I was merely paying you a compliment. We are just talking. I like you.”

“I like you, too. I more than like you.”

“I more than like you, too. I “liff” you, remember?”

Carmen laughed. “Okay, _friend_. So what are other your friends like?”

Tom lay on his back, and waited for Carmen to snuggle next to him. He looked at the ceiling. “They’re great. They have to be, to put up with me. I sometimes think I’m a bit too much to handle, talking. Showing off, really. But being on, it’s second nature. It helped me stand out when I was young.”

“At school, you mean?”

Tom nodded. “Yes. My first year, I was so excited to be at boarding school. And not just any boarding school but Eton. But I was homesick. I’d never lived away from home. But it made sense to go, as my parents were divorcing, selling the house. Settling up with each other.”

Carmen turned her body to face him, and placed her hand on his stomach. She watched it rise and fall with every breath, breaths that were slow and even.

“That must have been tough.”

“Something like that, I suppose.” Tom sounded tight.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to sound so…”

“It’s fine,” whispered Tom. “Really.”

Carmen took a deep breath. “So… school. Eton! All those boys. What was it like?”

Tom nodded. “I’d never had to share a room growing up, so having roommates was different, new. Once it stopped being new it was just plain fun, the more we got to know each other. Like having brothers. I would miss them over the breaks, summer and Christmas.”

“You weren’t glad to be going home?”

“Which home would that be? That first year of splitting time between my mum’s and my dad’s, it was so awkward. Even though they lived close to each other, it was strange seeing them, staying with them at their new houses. I still don’t like the feeling of leaving my father on Christmas Eve so I can wake up at my mother’s on Christmas Day.”

Carmen scooted up so she could kiss him, touching his face as she did. She sat back and smiled at him. “I know some people whose parents are divorced but spend the holidays together. Couldn’t they have done that?”

“They could have. But… they didn’t.”

“Did you ever tell them how you felt?”

“No,” Tom shook his head. “Stiff upper lip and all. Even at 13. It wasn’t so bad with my sisters there but… Anyway, as it happens, the moving around, living away, it was good preparation for when I left home for good. First for university, then London for drama school. I’m lucky to have had steady work, get these amazing opportunities to work with my heroes. So what if I have to spend three months in Iceland, followed by six weeks in Mallorca? It’s worth it for the work.”

“So where do you call home now?”

“London. A little house. It’s nice. I’ve lived there for ages.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yeah,” Tom admitted. “I really do.”

“If you were home right now, what would you be doing?”

“Right now? Reading, I imagine. Maybe some Dylan on the stereo. Resisting the urge to go to the refrigerator and eat that last slice of banoffee pie….”

Carmen sat up and looked at him. “Banoffee pie?”

Tom nodded. “That’s right, it’s…”

“Toffee and banana, whipped cream. I know it.”

“It’s my favorite.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Why’s that?”

Carmen smiled at him. “You’ll see.”

She threw the covers off and kissed his shoulder before getting out of bed.

“Get dressed, turkey. I’m taking you home with me.”

* * *

The hotel staff bid them a warm farewell as the yellow cab pulled out of the circular drive and made its way to Lake Shore Drive. Tom held Carmen’s hand, following her gaze out the window to look, not east at the lake but west at the far away lights of buildings that bordered on Lincoln Park. They passed the zoo, which was closed but the carousel was lit, a friendly beacon and a reminder of warmer times that were sure to come. When Carmen saw the imposing hulk of St. Joseph’s Hospital, she knew they were close.

The cab came to a stop in front of a brick three-flat, just a block from the lake. Tom paid the driver as Carmen protested that she should, as it was she who made them leave the hotel.

Tom shook his head. “Are you kidding? I don’t get to spend much time at my own house, so any opportunity to stay in a proper home is always welcome. Paying for the taxi is the least I can do.”

Carmen nodded, then took his hand. “Let’s get inside then. It’s freezing out here.”

She opened the main door, admitting them to a dim hallway the walls of which were papered with a rich blue damask. Carmen’s apartment was on the first floor, and her door was a dark polished wood. Unlocking it, she pushed the door open then stepped aside to let Tom in first. She took a moment, then two, before following him in.

“So… this is my place. Me.” Carmen watched Tom as he stood there, taking in her living room. She helped him remove his coat, and hung it up next to hers on the coatrack.

“Carmen…”

“Yes?” She looked up to find him smiling at her.

“This is wonderful.” He took her hand and squeezed it.

The walls were covered with brightly colored posters, all of them promoting the foreign releases of her favorite movies. A long couch covered in dark blue velour sat opposite a daybed made up with black and white sheets. The fireplace, which did not work, was filled with white candles on wrought iron pedestals. A television occupied the center of a massive bookcase that was overstuffed with books, organized by genre then author. Small tables, flea market finds all, bore precise arrangements of Carmen’s treasures. A small framed black and white photograph of Carmen’s grandparents in post-WWII Manila between a Murano glass paperweight and a fragment of coral, for example. Or a stack of vintage Playboys placed on the coffee table next to a magnifying glass.

“Follow me.” Carmen pulled Tom into her kitchen, which was small but well-equipped with a vintage candy pink stove and matching refrigerator. He laughed in delight when he saw that the jars containing flour, sugar, and salt looked like ceramic pigs wearing overalls.

“So I have… a lot of old takeout. And three beers.” Carmen took two out of the refrigerator, then handed them back to Tom so he could remove their caps. “But also… this!” She took placed a white box on the counter in front of them.

“What is it?” Tom brought his hand to rest on the back of Carmen’s neck, lightly, so he could just tickle the nape of her neck. She flicked the lid up with her finger and showed him what was inside.

“Is that…?” Tom leaned over and took a peek. “I can’t believe it. It’s…”

“Banoffee pie!” Carmen smiled up at him. “My neighbor baked it herself.”

“Amazing. What a delicious coincidence.” Tom nodded enthusiastically. “I am a fool for anything chocolate, but this is a particular favorite of mine.”

“It’s new to me, but I think I’m a fan already.” She looked down at the box. “So we have your pie. There are books to read, and I think I can cue up Bob Dylan on my iPod. What else do you need?”

Tom bent his head down to kiss her.

“Nothing,” he whispered. “I’ve got what I need.”

Carmen collected two forks and the box, balancing them on one hand as she headed to the living room. Tom took her other hand and tugged it in the other direction.

“What’s down there?”

“My room.” Carmen smiled. “You want to eat there instead?”

When he nodded in reply, she led him down the hall. In her room Carmen switched on the lamp on her nightstand before getting into bed. Tom kicked off his boots and removed his sweater, but kept his shirt and trousers on when he crawled into bed and sat beside her. He took the fork Carmen handed to him, and began to eat. He chewed methodically, slowly.

“Carmen, this is delicious.”

“I’ll tell my neighbor you said so.”

They continued to eat, Carmen watching his face as he considered his surroundings.

“What?” she whispered.

“It’s so soft in here, so soothing.”

“Of course it is. I love my room, this bed. I do my best sleeping in here.”

Tom nodded at a plush mouse that sat on the bureau. “And that creature?”

“Oh.” Carmen blushed. “That’s Boh.”

“Is he a…?”

“Yes, that would be a lavender mouse with an exceptionally plump bottom. He’s a character from _Spirited Away_ , one of the greatest movies of all time and my absolute favorite.”

“So strange,” Tom mused. “I have a snowglobe with him in it. Him with Baloo from _The Jungle Book_.”

“That’s some weird merchandising. Where’d you get the snowglobe?”

“I found it in my fridge one day…”

“What??”

“With a slice of banoffee pie.” Tom looked down at his lap.

Carmen exhaled slowly. “That is some kind of goddamn coincidence.”

“I’ll say.” Tom faced her. “What do you make of it?”

“Well,” Carmen said carefully. “I don’t know that I believe in magic, unseen forces. But, if something or someone saw fit to bring you here, to Chicago, to my house, to my bedroom to eat pie and talk to me, then who am I to question it? What matters, I think, is how you feel.” She peered at him. “And how do you feel now?”

Tom set the box aside, then plucked the fork out of Carmen’s hand to place it with his alongside the box.

“Perfect.” Tom whispered. “I feel perfect.”

Carmen reached out to wipe some crumbs off the corner of his mouth. She pulled him in to kiss him slowly, carefully. She whimpered when he sucked on her bottom lip.

“So sweet…” he whispered as they lay down and got more comfortable. He sighed with pleasure when Carmen ran her fingers through his hair. Her hand stopped when she felt a scar on his forehead.

“What’s this?”

Tom chuckled. “You don’t already know?! I thought you said you were a fan!”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “I never said that! What I said was I may have already known who you were when we met. Emphasis on the word ‘may’. Like, all of the emphasis.”

“Pfft.” Tom smiled as he looked at her face, focusing on her lips as they moved.

“Answer my question, please.”

“So demanding, miss!”

“Dude, you have no idea how demanding I can be.”

“Actually, I rather think I already do have an idea…”

“Smart mouth.”

“That’s not all my mouth is good for.”

“Oh my god!” She tickled Tom under his jaw, and he squirmed at her touch.

“Alright! It was from falling against a radiator when I was a boy.”

“Oh no…”

“But as you can see I’m fine.”

“I would say so.” Carmen touched the scar again. “Did it hurt?”

“Only a little  when I got the stitches. There was a lot of blood. I think I was in shock more than anything else.”

“Did you cry?” Carmen felt a tear come when she looked up to see Tom nodding. “I thought you said it didn’t hurt.”

“It was just… I had this bear. I took him everywhere with me. I was 8 when the accident happened, too old to take a bear to a family party, but… he was my friend, and there were so many people. My cousins let me play with them, but only if I put the bear aside. When I fell, mum and dad came in straight away to take me to hospital. But…” Tom closed his eyes. “I didn’t have him. Mum and Dad couldn’t find him, it all happened so fast. But my sister found him. Found Baloo.”

Carmen looked startled. “Baloo? Like Jungle Book Baloo? The one from your snowglobe?”

Tom nodded. “Sarah, she followed my parents to hospital, getting a ride with our uncle. She gave him to me before the doctor sent her back to the waiting room. So I could hold him while I got stitched up.”

“Poor baby. Sweet Tom.” Carmen kissed him. “Did Baloo come to Eton with you?”

“No,” replied Tom. “No place for a bear at boarding school. Especially if he’s the doll of a boy who was too old to be carrying him around.”

“I had my doll at school, my Boh.”

“I think it’s different when you go to university. It’s a quirk instead of something weird. And besides, it’s not as though you carried him around with you.”

“True. But just the same, it was nice to have a little something like Boh to come home to. Like a little secret friend, to help you through a hard time.”

“Were things tough for you?”

“Not really but… I had a terrible boyfriend for over two years. I think I always suspected he was terrible, but it was one of those relationships that was easy. Too easy. He lived next door first year, liked to sleep with me. Eat my food, smoke in my room. Even after he moved out of the dorm, he was always there.”

“What happened to him?”

“There was… I saw him with one of my best friends. They were going at it pretty hard in the middle of one of the smaller quads on campus, where they didn’t think or didn’t care that people could see. I remember going home to cry and hating myself for being so blind. I fell asleep with my nose pressed into Boh’s little bottom.” Carmen laughed. “It was nice. I felt safe.”

“Your boyfriend was an utter prick who didn’t deserve you”

Carmen laughed. “He really was. Jordy was never good to me.”

“Jordy?” Tom snorted. “That’s not his real name, surely.”

“That should have tipped me off. He hated Jordan, thought it sounded queer, he said. As if Jordy was so much better.”

Tom kissed her, smiling when she tightened her grasp around him.

“Why do I feel so good when I’m with you? Why does it feel so good to be here?”

Carmen ran a finger down his nose. “Home is home. It’s where I am most comfortable, and being comfortable is my favorite thing. It’s what I enjoy. It’s what home is. Hotel suites and room service and fancy dresses and raunchy sex, that’s fun and sexy and a real treat. Especially the sex!” She laughed, then kissed his cheek. “But this? Lying in bed after eating pie with a nice man who himself is far from his own home, a home that I know he misses, but can still be so relaxed in mine? This is what feels good. What feels right. You, Thomas, will always be welcome here. My home, whether it be here or elsewhere, wherever I am, will be yours.”

Tom had no reply but to kiss her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth when she gasped with pleasure. She slipped her hands around to the back of his neck, stroking the fine hair she found there. Carmen didn’t protest when Tom reached under her sweater and unclasped her bra. He kept his hand there, covering her warm left breast while he looked at her face in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He lightly brushed his thumb over her nipple, and she shivered with anticipation.

“You have a perfect button nose.” He rubbed his own nose against hers. “I always thought mine was too long.”

“It’s beautiful,” whispered Carmen. “Very elegant. It suits you.”

Tom moved his face down to her neck, letting his lips skim across her warm skin. “You have a freckle on your bottom lip.”

“Uh huh.” Carmen closed her eyes so she could only feel the tip of his tongue as it touched that very spot. “It’s… oh gosh, that feels nice. Mmm.”

“It’s very warm here.” Tom touched the hollow of her throat with his finger. “But you don’t appear to be unwell, so it must be your natural heat. You’re so warm, Carmen. Lucky for me you let me…” He kissed the crook of her neck. “You let me come in from the cold.”

The two of them fumbled, kissing while pushing off their clothes until they were clad only in underwear and the t-shirts they had layered under their sweaters. They tucked themselves in, with Carmen pulling the sheets over their heads so they were snug and cozy as they explored each other all over again. Hands that were pressed into hips would travel south to squeeze soft buttocks. Tom’s lips made a lazy circuit, moving between Carmen’s mouth and the crook of her neck. He sucked gently on that tender spot, moaning in response to every one of her sighs.

She couldn’t get over how soft his hair was, how good he smelled. It felt good to roll her hips against him, to be so close and to feel so safe as he whispered what he liked about her. Her dark hair. The flashing eyes, now shut as Tom touched her breasts under her shirt. The gentle lips that he tugged on with his own. Carmen covered his mouth with hers, breathing him in as she kissed him deeply and slowly. He looked so sweet, even as he took one breast in his mouth to swirl his tongue around the hardened bud before he moved to the other.

Tom pulled her legs up, wrapping them around his waist, then wrapped his arms around Carmen’s back and hugged her. He kissed her because it felt so good to do so, but also to feel connected, to touch her while he made himself at home in her arms.

“Car.” His voice was soft, insistent. “I just want… I want this to last a long time.”

“The making out, you mean? What’s wrong, can’t get this kind of smooching at home?”

“Minx!” Tom grabbed a pillow to swat at her, but she moved her head away, laughing. “I’m trying to be serious.”

“Okay,” Carmen agreed. “Go ahead.”

“I want this, the snogging, of course, but also this, whatever we are to each other… I want it to give it a chance. See what happens, what becomes of our friendship.”

“Like Humphrey Bogart and Claude Rains at the end of Casablanca?”

“Very funny. More like… Mickey and Holly in Hannah and her sisters, when they reconnect years after they dated, after he was with her sister Hannah. They’re different, better than they were, and they recognize it. They go shopping for records and walks in the park. A friendship.”

“And then they fall in love…” She pressed a kiss to one cheek. “Get married…” Another kiss to his temple. “Get pregnant.” One last kiss on his lips before nuzzling his cheek.

“Exactly.” Tom whispered, then kissed her ear. “Exactly.”

* * *

“You got everything?”

Carmen stood on the front porch, wrapped up in a long coat. A cab idled at the curb, the driver peering at Tom, who faced her.

He nodded. “Everything. Clothes, shoes, toiletries.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “Your phone number. Email address. Mailing address.”

"Of course. Yes." Carmen smiled. “Busy spring?”

Tom nodded. “Yeah. Filming mostly. But I don’t see why I can’t come by again.”

“You make it sound so easy. Like you can just pop over the pond whenever.”

“Yeah. Would that be alright?” Tom asked.

“Of course it would. I meant what I said. You’re always welcome. Or maybe I’ll surprise you somewhere, just pop up with a banoffee pie!”

“Yes! That would be great.” Tom looked serious as he took her hand in his. “Whenever I’m away, it’s always nice when someone, like my girl…?” He looked at Carmen’s face, feeling glad when she nodded at him. “When my girl from back home visits me.”

Carmen nodded. “Yes. Okay. Your girl.”

“My girl. My beautiful girl.” Tom pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed the top of her head, then her lips, and at last her cheek, whispering “Goodbye” and “Thank you” before he pulled himself away, get into the cab and start the journey home.


End file.
